A NonProductive Blog

Some movies are remembered among names like The Ten Commandments, while others are remembered among war crimes such as Manos: The Hands of Fate. I’m happy to report that Hot Tub Time Machine fell somewhere between those two.

When I first heard the title months ago, while looking for upcoming movies with Chevy Chase (more on him later, and YES, I just admitted to that), I figured it wouldn’t be a time-travel comedy, but a drama about a bunch of guys lamenting their lost youth. I have never been happier to be wrong.

HTTM features a solid lead cast. Most notable is John Cusack, who skews somewhere between his performance in Better Off Dead and Grosse Point Blank, followed by Rob Corddry, who absolutely steals every scene he’s in. Rounding out the cast is Craig Robinson, most notably of The Office, and newcomer Clark Duke. The supporting cast is no less disappointing, featuring the legendary Chevy Chase, Crispin Glover ([i]Back to the Future[/i]’s George McFly, for those of you who don’t remember, who also, in my opinion has the best running gag in HTTM), and in a cameo I unfortunately missed, William Zabka (the bully from [i]The Karate Kid[/i]).

You’d expect a movie like this to be ridiculous, and little more than a series of poorly stung-together gags. Well, it delivers on the ridiculous (in a good way), but also actually has a decent story to back it up. I don’t want to give too much away, but it’s equal parts Harold and Kumar, any John Cusack movie from the 1980s, Frequency, and Back to the Future. I think the filmmakers could have gotten away with leaving out some of the toilet humor, because the rest of it really was solid enough.

Chevy Chase as the all-knowing-but-not-telling-anything zen Buddhist-type unexplained mystical time travel guru and hot tub repairman equals classic comic gold.

You have to see it to enjoy it. Bonus points for the soundtrack. Motley Crue hasn’t sounded this good in years. If you’ve ever wondered what would hapen if you gave time travel technology to four of the most irresponsible people in the world, I encourage you to watch and find out.

Hey, all

As those of you who know me personally are aware, I got married last year, to the awesomest woman on the planet. Now that she’s taken, I realize there’s little to no point in any of you trying to find someone, but for those of you who have managed to resist getting your souls crushed, I’d like to impart some useful wisdom that may help you on the way.

-First, check with the vehicle manufacturer for specifications on towing.

-If your tow vehicle is not so equipped, obtain an OEM tow hitch. Failing that, obtain an aftermarket hitch that falls within factory recommended towing specifications.

-Trailer weight should not exceed 40% of the tow vehicle’s weight.

-If you plan on doing a lot of towing with an automatic transmission vehicle, you may consider adding an aftermarket transmission fluid cooler to prolong unit longevity.

-Always check your mirrors twice and signal well in advance of any turn or lane change.

-Oh, and your penis goes INside of the woman.

Happy motoring!

Haven’t been around in a while. Nothing really funny to say. Sentence fragments abound.

But, I saw this and had to share. Someone took the time to overdub the “Family Ties” opening with the theme to “Who’s the Boss?”. I can’t even begin to fathom who has this kind of spare time.

Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUlY02Thh8c

If you’re a guy in a relationship, I’ll wager that at some time, your lady has asked you to wear, or at least wondered out loud what you’d look like in a pink shirt.  I’ll bet that like most guys, you protested at the thought.  Guys do not wear pink - plain and simple.

This isn’t a matter of our maturity, our tolerance of others, or security in our masculinity.  Frankly, I’m more than a little tired of women throwing that old chestnut back at us time and again (”Oh… you don’t want to do it because you’re afraid you might like it…”).  The reason I don’t want to wear a pink shirt isn’t because I’m afraid of it.  I don’t want to wear a pink shirt because I don’t want to wear a pink shirt - plain and simple.  It’s the same reason that I don’t want to eat a plate of dog leavings.  I’m not afraid I’ll like it, or what anyone else will think of me for doing it.  It’s just something that I’m not interested in, nor will ever be interested in.  More power to the sick fucks who actually get off eating poop.  It’s just not something I’m ever going to try.  I KNOW I won’t like it.  And, don’t tell me not to knock it if I haven’t tried it.  There’s certain things in this world that I can safely say I won’t enjoy and about which refuse to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.  Pink shirts fall into that category.

Sometimes I think women ask us to wear pink shirts so that they can take a picture and brag to their girlfriends that they actually got us into a pink shirt.  Pink is the classic girl color, and it’s some kind of a power trip thing, I think.  Remember guys… there’s no shame in being asked to wear a pink shirt.  If you’re in a relationship, you will get asked at one time or another.  The shame is in actually doing it.

Am I the only one that thinks the founding fathers got it completely wrong with the amendment banning cruel and unusual punishment?

First off, are they banning punishment if it meets the criteria for being either cruel or unusual, or only if it’s both simulataneously?  Let’s start with unusual…  How are we defining unusual?  With laws (and punishments) differing in different municipalities, counties, and states…  how can you determine what is usual?  PLUS, every so often, you hear on the news about a judge that exercises “creative sentencing.”  What’s USUAL about that?

Frankly, I think we’ve already thrown “usual” out the window.  There are few standards left in punishment.  We send people to jail for years drug possession, while burnout celebrity starlets get an hour and a half in the slammer for potentially deadly DUIs.  Nobody can predict who’s going to get punished for what and what that punishment is.

So, let’s move on to cruel.  Now, isn’t the point of punishment to inflict some cruelty?  Punishment was never intended to consist of a hug, a blow job, and a scholarship.  It’s supposed to be something bad happening to you because you’ve done something bad.  Kind of a policy of enforced karma, if you will. A few weeks ago I caught an article about prison inmates that were accusing the jail of cruel and unusual punishment because as punishment, they were given a food product called “nutraloaf” or something like that.  More or less a meal blended into and cooked into loaf form.

So… being fed constitutes punishment now? 

Part of the problem is that the amendment doesn’t leave any definitions as to what the founding fathers thought was cruel and unusual.  This leaves a loophole for pretty much ANYONE in ANY SITUATION to cry and whine about supposed cruel and unusual punishment.

I hereby propose that this amendment be stricken, and that all punishment be standardized to being shot in the face.

Drug dealer - shoot him in the face

Shady contractor stealing from the government - shoot him in the face

Jaywalker - shoot him in the face

Returning library books late? - shot in the face

Seeing a pattern here?

Those of you who have been following the voting for the 2008 Loud Idiots Movie Awards are aware that as of the writing of this post, “Rowdy” Roddy Piper is currently leading the pack for Worst Performance by a Professional Wrestler for his role as Sam Hell in 1987’s Hell Comes to Frogtown.

 Now, I’ve never done drugs in my life, so the only explanation as to why this one is in my DVD collection is that I was bored late one night while buying an unwise amount of junkfood at the supermarket, and saw this “bargain” DVD near the register.  This was a thoroughly terrible movie.  I don’t remember much about the plot and refuse to re-watch it for purposes of a recap.  Thanks to IMDB, I know remember that this movie takes place after a major war.  Women now run the USA and Sam Hell (valuable for his fertility having survived the nuclear/whatever war) is at their mercy to rescue a group of fertile women, valuable for their fertility.  He wants no part in this.  He is forced to do their bidding, though, when they hold him hostage by strapping a fucking bomb to his junk.

 I don’t remember how it ends, nor do I want to.  I sat through it once, and I’ll only do so again in the interest of punishing another person.

So, one might expect this piece of cinematic diarrhea to be long gone and forgotten.  Amazingly enough… not so.  Apparently, in 1993, someone stood up and said, “you know, Hell Comes to Frogtown was a damn fine piece of cinema, but I think we can do better…”

And thus, the world was gifted with the afterbirth known as Frogtown II (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0106970/).  Never seen it, but it’s got Lou Ferrigno in a supporting role.  No Roddy Piper.  Sounds like even better MST3K fodder than Hell Comes to Frogtown.  If the first one was a B-movie, this one had to be a C-movie.

I wish it could tell you it ended there, but in 1996, as Bill Clinton duked it out with Bob Dole, along came a movie known as Toad Warrior http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117930/ (AKA Hell Comes to Frogtown 3).  I’ll bet Mel Gibson is spinning in his grave…  Someone up there must like me because IMDB has an empty plot synopsis.  All I can tell (from the movie poster) is that the new lead is named Max Hell.

 With the dawn of the new century, one might think we were out of the dark.  Hardly.  I give you 2002’s straight to video (the others were released theatrically?) Max Hell Comes to Frogtown http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0342750/ Once again, thankfully, no plot synopsis.

So, FOUR fucking Frogtown movies, but no Ghostbusters 3 and no Back to the Future 4?  Fuck.  I hate Hollywood.

It’s no secret that hoping for a Hillary/Obama hybrid candidate to sweep the election come November.  I’m not talking both of them on the same ticket.  I’m talking full-on genetic abomination, a-la The Fly.

But, occasionally I see a news story on Republicans of which I wholeheartedly approve.

Last week, I caught a bit on Yahoo! News about John McCain and President Bush having lunch together at the White House.  They had hot dogs.

This is newsworthy?????  Thanks a lot, overfed media.  That’s a really great use of time, money, and resources.  Jackasses…

But, got to thinking… and this is truly a gift to us.  I’d call it comic gold, but it’s really a comic onion, with various layers to examine.

First off is the dubious newsworthiness of the story to begin with.  But, that fades quickly.  So, peel back a few layers, and imagine this as the headline:

BUSH AND MCCAIN ENJOY WIENERS IN THEIR MOUTHS

Childish? - YES

Sophomoric? - YES

On that note, have an immature week 

One of the benefits of my retarded (wickid re-tah-ded, for the natives) long commute is that occasionally, as I’m sitting in traffic, headbanging to Orville Prendergast’s Barbershop Explosion, I see some shit that makes me laugh.  Somtimes it’s as simple as a humorous bumper sticker (I saw one last week that said “McCain in ‘08″ - comic genius, I tells ya!).  Sometimes it’s a little more…

Last week I’m driving into work, at about 7:30 AM on the Massachusetts Turnpike (Masspike for the natives) when traffic slows down.  Thankfully, I’m still near the front of the pack, and I soon find out what the delay is.

There’s a car on the shoulder, dual flashers on.  As I get closer, I see the car is still rolling along - barely.  I can see that the car is dipping down on the front driver’s side.  Flat tire, I said to myself.

As I passed, I realized that the tire wasn’t flat.  It just WASN’T FUCKING THERE!  What’s more, the rim itself was AWOL.  I was witnessing a car driving on three rims and a BRAKE ROTOR!

What I want to know is:

1) Did the wheel pop off while driving, or did the driver stop and take it off?

2) Why was the driver still going? (staties pass by every few minutes - help would have been there quickly)

3) How far did he expect to get like that?

4) How far did he make it?

People… when you have only three wheels - STOP THE CAR!

It’s a well-known fact that many of the great things we enjoy in this world came into being by accident.  Penicillin, for one - tasty, and fun for the whole family - was an accident.

Other things come into our collective culture through much trial and error.  Rome for example - was actually NOT built in a single day!

Flash back 20 years and you would have seen pretty much every American male (yours truly included) under 30 sporting a backwards baseball cap.  What most people don’t know is that the concept went through much prototyping before it reached the cultural icon status it eventually achieved.

First conceived by a somewhat bohemian Parisian in 1984, the backwards beret went largely unnoticed.

This was soon followed in 1986 by the backwards motorcycle helmet, invented by southern Harley enthusiast Billy-Ray McDougall (1964-1986)

Only in 1989 did the idea achieve it’s fully-evolved look finally appear.  Adored by all, it is rumored that there are isolated pockets of the populace where the look lives on to this day.

Next week’s history lesson: Which came first? The chicken, or the bucket?

As we scream toward potential regime change on the home front in November, it is important to be mindful of all we have been through and suffered together as Americans these past eight years.  It’s a little known fact that on September 11, 2001, there was a terrorist attack meant to topple America’s economy and cripple its spirit.  But, we did not run.  Countless first responders, including police, firefighters, and paramedics, braved the rubble to secure cities and rescue as many as possible. For facing such danger, without regard for their own consequences, nobody can argue that they were heroes.

It wasn’t long before the inevitable happened, and America took its response to the international stage.  Whether or not you agreed with the political/military machine driving the war, you cannot deny the selflessness and bravery of the men and women of our armed forces who left their homes and families, to battle our sworn enemies on their own soil, and defend the cause of democracy and liberty.  Many left, many never returned, but none are forgotten.  For giving so much, and asking so little, our servicepeople are heroes.

But, there is an American hero that has remained unrecognized and unsung.  As America has weathered on through years of war, time has taken its toll on the populace.  America’s once bountiful economy has fallen on hard times.  With untold numbers of homes going into foreclosure, skilled jobs being exported overseas, and the dollar losing ground to the world economy daily, the average American can no longer take American financial supramacy for granted, and many have become accustomed to living, in fear, from paycheck to paycheck.

So, imagine how my heart soared with pride at this scene of classic Norman Rockwell Americana…

Today, I was walking from my office to my car after work.  My rented parking spot is a good half mile from the office, so I get to see a nice long stretch of Mass Ave in Cambrige, MA (for those not local, this is the same neighborhood that contains Harvard University).  The sun isn’t quite down yet, and it’s still in the 40s - which is rather pleasant for Boston in early March.  Most of the traffic is headed North, toward route 2, as commuters like myself leave the city for less expensive locales.  The two southbound lanes heading in the direction of Harvard, and the Charles River, are pretty much open.

The right lane is unoccupied as I walk.  There are two cars in the left lane.  One is obscured from my vision by a parked truck.  The other, following closely behind, is an absolutely goregeos Aston Martin DB9 coupe - the kind of thing James Bond would drive if he were a Harvard Professor, or a spy, for that matter.

The car up front comes to a stop and flips on its blinker - it is about to make a left hand turn.  Of course, when you’re rich enough to drive an Aston Martin, you WAIT FOR NOBODY!  After being forced to wait for an unimaginable quarter-second, the Aston Martin driver lays into his powerful British horn, cuts hard right, sounds a mighty roar with his engine and tears around the first car, rocketing towards the Boston city limits with twelve cylinders of fury at his command.

Let’s examine this for a moment…

1. Aston Martin DB9 coupe, 12 cylinder engine, British import - uber-expensive
2. mileage, as per fueleconomy.gov - at BEST 18 highway, 11 city
3. Engine being maxed out for about a quarter mile, so fuel economy goes way south - let’s call it 6 MPG
4. Gas at the station across the street, $3.05 for regular.  Premium was probably something like $3.35, making that quarter mile cost approximately fourteen cents

Doesn’t sound like a lot, but total that up over how often said driver likely does that, and we’re talking a lot of fuel.  So, between the expensive non-American import (NOT MADE IN USA!), the road rage-style driving, and the excessive fuel consumption, I think we can safely assume that the past eight years have not affected the driver of the Aston Martin.  He has not let fear (or any common sense) control his spending habits, care for other people, or spirit of patriotism.

So, ladies and gentlemen - I present to you the greatest American hero: the Douchebag.  I ask you to join me in honoring these stallions among citizens in song.

Sing along now…. And a one, and a two, and a-

“Believe it or not,

I’m driving a car!

I never thought I could be a dou-ouche-bag!

Speeding away, not a care in the world!

Who is that douche?

Believe it or not, it’s just me!”